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by ELG



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ELG/pseuds/ELG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in S5 after <i>Hellbound</i> and before <i>Destiny</i>. Angel and a post-mindwipe Wesley relax after work. An incorporeal Spike watches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

There weren’t many good things about being incorporeal but the ability to spy without being detected was one of them. A drift through a wall was silent, and as a ghost he was odourless; nothing to set off even the highly attuned senses of a vampire. Which was how Spike found out about Angel and Wesley.

He had to admit it shocked him. He just hadn’t seen them that way until he actually _saw_ them…that way.

It was obvious this wasn’t a first time. This was a regular occurrence, too casual to be anything else. Not lacking in intensity, but both of them able to think about other things, or, in Wesley’s case, talk about other things, even as he was taking off his clothes.

Wesley unbuttoned his very expensive shirt as he spoke: “How can we know that anything that was left here for us to read is actually true? The records department and the references we have access to could all have been subtly altered….”

Angel stepped out of his pants. “That could be true of the books you buy from a store, Wes. There are such things as pan-dimensional beings who can move backwards and forwards in time to change things that don’t suit them. Not to mention erasing all references to creatures that might be coming up in future apocalypses.”

Having already kicked off his shoes and socks, Wesley unzipped his jeans. “I trust bookshops, Angel. I don’t trust Wolfram & Hart.”

“Good.” Angel pulled his black silk shirt over his head. “Keep not trusting them. It’s the only thing that will stop you getting corrupted.”

Wesley stood on one leg to pull off his jeans, they had looked tight when he was wearing them but they came off easily, leaving Spike a little taken aback by how good the guy looked. He’d been thinking Wesley only looked hot because of his damned designer stubble and five hundred dollar shirts, but, no, it turned out that his good looks went all the way down to the bone. Naked, he was all long legs and slender waist; just the right amount of lean muscle on his upper arms and shoulders; hips narrow, ass… Okay, Spike had to admit that was an inviting ass. Wesley looked across at Angel, not remotely self conscious about his own nakedness or Angel’s. “And what’s going to stop you getting corrupted?”

That slow smile from Angel was the first sign of actual lust in the proceedings. So far it had felt more like a business meeting with some strip poker involved. “You.”

Wesley grinned and Spike realized it was the first time he’d seen him smile. It was a cute smile. Boyish. Made him look young. Probably why he didn’t do it too often. “You don’t think this is a form of corruption…?”

“Nah.” Angel crossed over to where Wesley was standing at the foot of the bed and kissed him with unexpected tenderness. “This is definitely a good thing.”

Wesley returned the kiss with interest, a good kisser, scratch that, a _very_ good kisser, not rushing it, although Angel clearly wanted to go deeper, holding Angel off a little, not quite a tease but making sure their mouths were on the best possible terms before their tongues started playing with the touchy-feelies. Then he opened up and invited Angel in and Angel took it slow and deep and very intense. Spike hated to admit it, but it was even getting him a little hot and bothered. Angel’s fingers were in Wesley’s hair now, tilting his head back a fraction so he could kiss even deeper; their throats working as their tongues evidently intertwined. Wesley was oxygen-starved by the time Angel finally let him up for air, Angel’s fingers still in his hair, mouth brushing Wesley’s before he kissed up his cheek, then play-bit him, Wesley gasping reflexively, liking it way too much, mouth opening in automatic response to another nip of his cheekbone before Angel bit his earlobe hard enough to make Wesley moan in what definitely wasn’t pain. Then Angel’s tongue was flicking into Wesley’s ear and the Watcher’s knees appeared to be weakening. Angel really went to work on laving that ear and Wesley made helpless kitten mewing noises that until that point Spike hadn’t believed could ever come out of that uptight English throat. Wesley was squirming at the sensation, head going back in response, exposing a column of pale throat that just cried out to be bitten. Angel nuzzled him playfully then kissed down from his ear to his jaw, baring his teeth in a mock threat, Wesley turning his head to the side so his jugular was exposed and Angel swooping in to suck on it.

Sweet torture. Spike could hear the thump of Wesley’s heartbeat from where he was watching from the shadows. Knew Angel must be able to smell the blood pulsing through that artery; knew how acute the hunger must be now; the warmth of Wesley irresistible at such close quarters, but Angel still resisted; playbiting his way down Wesley’s throat to his shoulder, making the man moan in definite pleasure. That was trust, Spike had to admit, on both of their parts. Most people wouldn’t trust a vampire to restrict his nipping to surface skin, not when there was all that hot blood calling to him, and most vampires wouldn’t let a guy with a throat as biteable as that tease him by exposing it so readily.

Angel’s fingers tightened in Wesley’s hair and pulled him down onto the bed, still tender even as he landed on top of him, bracing himself with a knee so Wesley wouldn’t have to take his weight.

Wesley was prettily submissive; or could at least pretend to be for a short period of time; probably trained by a woman, Spike suspected; a woman who knew what she liked and used her teeth skilfully because he was very used to having his head dragged back like that, fingers tight in his hair, throat exposed, a pale column of deliciously biteable skin. Angel must want to feed; any vampire would; but he just nipped, lovebites, hickeys of all things; Angel was giving his pet watcher hickeys. Christ, Angelus must he pissed, glowering in there somewhere in his cage desperate to rip out that throat and feed, to drink the lifeblood, probably to fuck Wes raw while he was doing it. But Angel was tender and teasing; both of them so damned _comfortable_ with what they were doing, bodies moving together as if they’d done it a hundred times before. Perhaps they had. Perhaps the uptight little watcher boy from Sunnydale Buffy had described to him had ridden off on his big sexy motorbike and climbed straight into Angel’s double bed. Spike was starting to wonder exactly how long this had been going on.

Wesley’s mouth opened reflexively as Angel bit him harder, spine arching into the bite, not away from it. No puncture wounds at his throat though, and no scars of old ones either. They tapdanced along the line but they evidently didn’t cross it. They flirted with dark but kept it sweet. And it was sweet, Spike was surprised to see, Angel lowering himself onto Wesley so carefully. After fellow vampires and a near-indestructible Slayer, an ordinary human probably felt scarily breakable; especially one as skinny and unresisting as Wes. Angel was so much stronger than Wesley but that didn’t seem to be a problem for either of them. Wesley looked happy on his back, gazing up at Angel with fond affection, almost amused, shedding years, boyish in relaxation beneath his serious facade, their hands sliding familiarly over each other’s bodies. Angel kissed him again, slow and lingering and Wesley returned the kiss with interest, cranking up the heat a little with some seductive use of tongue, and an inviting cant of his legs.

 _Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, you little slut, you_ , Spike thought, surprised to find he was thinking it fondly, indulgently almost, as if Wesley were a friend, as if he liked him. It was a shock to realize that he _did_ like him. Had somehow slipped into the habit of getting fond of these people. Fred, Wes, Gunn and Lorne. Angel’s people. No way was he going down that path again. Not the whole tribe of affiliated do-gooders who wouldn’t want him joining their special little club because he wasn’t one of them. Except they hadn’t really behaved like that, had they? Fred had worked herself half to death trying to find a way to make him corporeal, and the rest of them had sort of accepted him, a little uncomfortable with it at first but then a sigh of resignation and they seemed to be okay with him. No one threw his past crimes in his face. No one told him he wasn’t good enough. Of course, Wesley did tend to treat him as if he were some by-blow of Angel’s who had possibly taken one too many hits to the head at times… But there was never a hint that he shouldn’t be allowed to play in their sandpit. He definitely had to get away from this place and soon. The last thing he needed was to get emotionally connected to another bunch of dozy humans who – 

Angel was kissing Wesley with passion now, letting their mouths crush and then pull back oh so slowly, from bruising to barely brushing, fingers in Wesley’s hair, hips moving with a slow determination as their cocks clashed pleasurably, making Angel growl in his chest with something that sounded like triumph, making Wesley’s narrow back arch an invitation.

“We didn’t talk to Gunn about the Fareham case.” Wesley said abruptly.

Spike almost snickered out loud. Good old Percy – conscientious to, if not the grave, certainly the climax.

Angel kissed him again. Hard. “Stop spoiling the mood.”

“Angel…?”

The vampire groaned. “Don’t you ever take an hour off?”

“Evil never sleeps.” Wesley’s grin was an ironic counterpoint to the pompous tone. He reached for a pad and pen on the bedside table, brow furrowing in concentration as he made rapid notes. Angel sighed, rolled his eyes, then began to kiss absently down Wesley’s body where it was half turned away from him, licking his spinal column and stroking his thigh as he did so, making Spike very aware once again of how easy they were with one another. Also how much he missed being able to lick things, especially warm slightly salt skin with the warm pulse of blood beneath it….

“Gunn probably knows anyway.” Angel paused briefly in his kisses. “What with his hotline to the Senior Partners.”

“Don’t joke about that.” Wesley was still scribbling notes. “Gunn’s sensitive about what we think they put in his head.”

“I still wish he hadn’t done it.”

Wesley looked down at the member of the undead currently nuzzling his thigh. “We all took the tour. We all signed up for this.”

“He was the one with the invitation to the White Room.”

“But we’re all here.” Wesley finished his notes and put the pad back on the table, within easy reach, Spike noted – presumably in case some other pressing matter of business occurred to him while he and Angel were making out. As Wesley rolled back over and Angel kissed down past his groin, Spike wondered what this actually was. It didn’t seem to be a relationship-relationship. Not romantic, not passionate, just…comfortable. There was that damned word again. More like a continuation of their friendship. Of course there was the confusing element of their friendship being more like most people’s marriages, but without the sex – except they were _having_ the sex. Spike realized they were confusing him less and more at the same time. He’d taken them for people who ought to be having sex and didn’t know it, and now it turned out that they were having sex so presumably did know it, except they still didn’t seem very…knowing.

“Don’t remind me,” Angel mumbled through a mouthful of slender thigh he was sucking. Spike noted that he was sucking where the femoral artery was, where he must be able to feel the hot thrum of the blood beneath the surface.

“I keep wondering if there’s something in those files I should have found by now. But if Wolfram & Hart want us to find it then would it be a good thing if we did? But what if…”

“What if you stop talking shop and start talking dirty?” Angel did aggrieved very well and the puppy dog eyes were in full force. He nipped Wesley’s thigh for punctuation and the man gave a gasp and shiver and his cock a hardening to semi-erect that definitely suggested his mind was no longer on work issues.

Wesley sighed. “There’s just so much we don’t know….”

Angel gave him his most winsome look. “You’re the one who once told me that I needed to find a safe outlet for my sexual frustration.”

Arching his back at the sensation of Angel licking up his leg, Wesley ground out: “You’d just been on a rampage because of your obsession with Darla that involved a lot of dead lawyers, unacceptable levels of carnage, and you generally acting like a complete wanker.”

Angel nuzzled a scar on Wesley’s abdomen penitently. “It could happen again. Build up of sexual frustration in a vampire – very dangerous thing. As my watcher I think it’s really your duty to do something about it.”

“Well, there’s always castration of course….” Wesley mused thoughtfully.

Angel pounced; a smooth move, Spike had to concede, landing on Wesley like a panther, knees straddling him, hair pulled back, throat exposed, and then that slow lick across the jugular, followed by that deep, hot kiss. Spike watched Wesley respond and then squirm as Angel’s thumb brushed across his nipple, as one hand slid down his side, stroking and caressing the pale skin. 

“You were saying…?” Angel breathed seductively.

Wesley gazed up at the vampire and just for a second Spike saw it, the adoration in those blue-grey eyes, the _beat me, bind me, take me I'm yours_ look of the completely besotted, then Wesley averted his gaze and regained control of his voice. “Well, the word on the street is that you’re a eunuch, so….”

Angel sat up on top of Wesley and caught the man’s hand in his, moving Wesley’s fingers to his impressive erection. “Do I feel like a eunuch to you?”

Wesley swallowed. “Not really, no.” He blinked and got his work expression again, while still absently stroking Angel’s cock as if it were an old friend. “Is Nina due here tomorrow?”

Checking for signs of jealousy on Wesley’s part Spike saw precisely…none. Wesley actually sounded like someone trying to match-make and not sure of the best way to go about it.

“I think so. I don’t know. Why?”

“Nice girl, don’t you think? I just wondered if her cage was ready.”

“I don’t know and why are you asking me about that now of all times?”

“No reason.” There was a pause before he said with a display of casualness that would have fooled no one: “It’s just that I can’t help thinking it would do you good to get out a bit more. We really are spending a lot of time in the belly of this particular beast. Isn’t there a danger that we – and you, in particular – could become as cut off from humanity in general as the previous runners of this company?”

Angel groaned in frustration. “Wes, God knows I love you but you really know how to kill the mood.”

Wesley winced apologetically. “Sorry. We just don’t get much time to talk these days and I keep wondering what Wolfram & Hart…”

“The whole point of their evil plan was to keep me so busy it would stop me getting any sex so I would go bad again. Okay?” Angel bent and kissed Wesley again, slow and hot and skilful, before pulling back to breathe seductively: “Now you know, do you feel better?”

Wesley’s dilated pupils made it clear that his mind was no longer entirely on business matters. “It’s certainly a less fiendish plan than I’d anticipated,” he admitted faintly. “And one more easily thwarted…”

“Want to get thwarting?” Angel kissed him again and oh yeah you didn’t spend two hundred and fifty years walking the earth in various stages of lifelessness without learning how to kiss just like that, mind-frying, circuit-breaking, hormone-jangling tongue on tongue, deep into the warm wet cavern of the helpless victim’s mouth, erection-summoning nipple-hardening kissage of the hottest kind. Spike watched Wesley’s body melt into that kiss, the arch of the back into it, the fully hard cock, the straining legs as every inch of his skin abruptly needed to be in contact with Angel’s cool hard body.

As Angel wrapped himself around a breathless Wesley, Spike couldn’t help envying him that sensation, a warm, fragile, human body beneath his; the blood flow a pulse in his ears, a taste in his mouth as he licked; a perfectly breakable warm-blooded creature pressing up against him all yielding and trusting and open to his desires. _Lucky bastard_ , he snarled mentally. 

He kind of wanted Wesley right now. Scratch the ‘kind of’, he just did. And, yes, it wasn’t for a good reason, it was for the very petty, very old reason that Angel had Wesley and Angel had taken so much from him in the past that he couldn’t get over wanting to take things away from Angel just because they were his. But Wesley was a _good_ guy, one of them anyway – a Watcher no less, or ex-Watcher anyway – and he thought it was hunky dory to let the vampire who had once been Angelus fuck him because Angel was just so noble and virtuous and shit-full of atonement these days. He somehow doubted the same courtesy would be extended to William the Bloody, soul or no soul. He wasn’t sure he even fancied Wesley, even with his damned designer stubble. He certainly hadn’t fancied him ten minutes ago before he’d seen Angel stick his tongue in his ear and Wesley do that squirmy whimpery thing on the bed. But now he was hard and getting harder. Well, as hard as a non-corporeal creature could be anyway. Which was technically pretty soft, but the yearning was there even if the flesh wasn’t. And, Christ, Wesley was just so giving, wasn’t he? And flexible. Part of the benefit of being such a skinny bastard, presumably, you could bend him every which way and he had no flesh to get in the way, just bones, and muscle, and a willingness to please. Lucky bastard bloody Angel getting some before Spike yet again.

“…oh God, Angel…yes…books…cross-reference….”

“What?” Angel had been licking Wesley’s cock when the man’s last words permeated.

Wesley winced. “Did I just say that out loud?”

Angel looked at him steadily. “You’re thinking about work _now_?”

“I was mostly thinking about what you were doing,” the man assured him.

“Were you like this with Lilah?” Angel demanded. “Because if so I'm a little surprised she didn’t have you – I don’t know – killed…?”

Although Wesley had clearly never learnt the puppy dog eyes trick that Angel had off pat, his own eyes filled with genuine remorse still packed a fair wallop of their own. “It’s only that I don’t want to miss anything.”

“You’re going to miss out on a blow job if you don’t get your mind back where it should be.”

“Angel….”

Wesley sounded about eight when he said the vampire’s name like that, all reproachful and apologetic at once. “I was just thinking that if I bought copies of an obscure text that Wolfram & Hart might have reason to tamper with from various different sources and then compared it with the one in the archives here…and I'm shutting up now, I promise.”

Angel growled again, a real I-am-a-vampire-fuck-with-me-and-die growl. Spike was disgusted – and annoyingly turned on – to see that it made Wesley give a shiver of pleasure. “Good, because your ass is mine, Wes.”

Wesley twisted around, interestingly limber, Spike couldn’t help noticing again; yes, being so skinny definitely having its advantages. “No. It’s still mine.”

“Nope. Must belong to me as must the rest of you.” But he was grinning as he looked down at Wesley and bending his head to rub noses with the man was hardly as alpha macho as it could have been. “You’re my faithful servant, remember?”

“I was drunk.” Wesley was grinning back as he shifted into a comfortable position, hands behind his head, long lean body fitting snugly under Angel’s.

“You were stone cold sober. A little light-headed with hunger, admittedly, and consequently desperate to keep your job, but still my self-declared servant.”

Wesley stretched luxuriously before intoning pompously: “You seem to be forgetting that I'm a rogue demon hunter and that a solitary soldier such as myself….” His giggle as Angel swooped to lave his navel with his tongue was unexpectedly childish as was the way his body curled helplessly up into the wet touch. The adult sized version of a kid who was never tickled enough, Spike found himself thinking; incredibly touch-responsive. Which must make screwing him fun.

Angel grinned up at Wesley before licking his stomach. “Easy, Tiger.” He raised his head, frowning abruptly. “How come you don’t wear leather any more?”

“Because I looked like a complete prick?” Wesley offered.

Angel gave him a dirty grin as he climbed up Wesley’s body. “I thought you looked pretty hot myself, especially the way those pants…chafed across the crotch, and that ass in leather….”

“You’re a sick sick man.”

“You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

The kiss was long and slow and deep and hot and ended for some considerable time any further possibility of speech from the one of the couple who had to breathe. Angel’s fingers were in Wesley’s hair, gripping it as he used his tongue to thrust rhythmically into the wet cavern of the Watcher’s mouth. Not a subtle signifier, Spike had to admit, but its message age-old and very clear. Wesley’s turn to growl; voice hoarse as he managed something that sounded like ‘Do it…,’

 

Spike felt like pointing out to a moaning gasping Wesley during the next ten minutes that _any_ vampire could give him a blowjob like that, any vampire having the distinct advantage over a human of not needing to breathe. And, yes, sure Angel seemed to have a pretty good technique going there, if you liked being teased halfway to the point of insanity, all that licking and nibbling and stroking and fondling punctuating the important stuff of wrapping a cold throat around an erect cock and frictioning it until the recipient was a squirming moaning brain-fried mess of happy hormones. 

Perhaps somewhere in the midst of all the arching spine and ‘ _Oh God…!_ ’s and ‘ _Angel_...!’s, the flexing legs and open mouth, the dumb Watcher on the bed might notice what Angel was doing with his fingers? _Not doing this out of unselfish motives here, Wes, old mate. Expecting something in return. Expecting to stick his big fat…._

Spike blinked as he realized that half of the moaning and gasping from Wesley actually seemed to be in response to those lubricant-slicked fingers. Swearing under his breath, Spike shook his head. “I so knew you’d give it up without a whimper, Pryce.” As the double stimulation of fingers on prostate and vampire throat around cock elicited a powerful response from Wesley, Spike rolled his eyes. “All right – with a lot of whimpers then. Dammit, man, where’s your pride?”

He gritted his teeth as Wesley came moaning Angel’s name, blissed out and limp as a starfish with the aftershocks of orgasm, Angel still gently sucking him clean. Wesley’s hair was sweat spiked and unruly, a sheen across his body, smelling of contentment and completion and a wraparound odour of Angel.

The vampire let the limp cock slide out of his mouth and kissed it a few times before moving up Wesley’s body. And Spike hated how sweet it was. The look in Angel’s eyes so full of affection as he leaned in for a long slow kiss, letting Wesley pant into his mouth as he recovered from his orgasm high, letting Wesley taste himself on Angel’s tongue. Wesley reached up, breathlessly, and stroked Angel’s hair, looking up at him as if he were the champion of the world, the dead cert to Shanshu his way back to humanity; not to mention the second, third, and fourth coming. Wesley canted up his legs as he kissed Angel again, taking his time, slow and hot and inviting, his fingers just stroking Angel's cheek, and Angel moved in as if their bodies knew all these steps so well they didn’t even need to break eye contact.

They kissed, their hands in each other’s hair, Wesley’s eyes closed briefly, Angel’s open, checking for that wince as their bodies interlocked like Lego; Wesley’s mouth opening reflexively, a trickle of sweat down his cheek which Angel turned his head to lick off. Wesley gasped and Angel’s hips moved almost imperceptibly. It was a good gasp, Spike was disappointed to notice, because Angel hadn’t turned into game face or used his superior strength to nail Wesley to the mattress, or grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head, or any of the other things that Angelus might want him to do. No, they were too busy being _comfortable_ with one another, hips barely flexing as they moulded together as if this was their natural state of being, joined and gently rocking; all those kisses, at the side of the mouth, and the eyes, and the cheekbone, the lovebites so tender they wouldn’t even leave a mark. Not passionate, not broken furniture or broken skin, no bruises, no damage. Hardly sex at all, Spike told himself shortly, but he couldn’t stop watching all the same; watching Angel kissing Wesley so tenderly and Wesley murmuring something too low even for his hearing to pick up, and that smile from Angel and a smile back from Wesley, and still the gentle rocking of Angel’s hips into Wesley’s responsive body, that slow easy rhythm they looked as if they could keep up all night without leaving a mark, hardly raising a sweat. A waste of time that kind of sex.

Spike wanted a cigarette. Wanted fingers to hold it in and a mouth to suck in the smoke; wanted to feel the welcome kick of the nicotine; wanted to feel the heat of the flame that could kill him if he let it. Didn’t want to be here, incorporeally watching this, Angel someone he didn’t really recognize who must have made love to Buffy like this, all tenderness and whispers, shared jokes murmured into an ear he licked for punctuation. Didn’t want to see Wesley grin like that at something Angel said and the smile turn into a gasp, a pleasurable wince, putting his head back so he could relax into the sensations as Angel kept it so slow and so gentle he was going to drive them both to the brink of the best kind of crazy. 

He walked through the wall and left them to it, all their little murmurs and gasps and thrusts that would eventually turn into moans and clutched sheets, clutched hands, clutched skin, and then those long sighs of satisfaction, brief kisses, briefer rest, and then a drift back into the day’s business. They would be talking about paperwork again by the time they’d both showered, Wesley shaking out the creases in that very expensive shirt of his, even though there weren’t any, even though he’d taken the time to hang it carefully on the back of the chair before climbing into Angel’s bed. And straight through the middle of everything they did and said, the conversations and the sex, there would be that golden vein of friendship. He had no idea how that felt, and walking away through the almost empty building he realized that even if he got his body back, got his gift of the gab back, got Wesley drunk or drugged or magicked into submission, he would never get what Angel had just had, because it was all about the history, all about the shared experiences, all about those two at this point in their lives because of all that had gone before between them. 

Walking away, Spike realized that he couldn’t stay like this forever; that he had to get back to the warmth again; even if his own body was doomed to stay cold forever he had to get at least a glimpse of what Angel had; not the cars and the suits and the penthouse but the comfort of a human body warming his even if it was only from across the room with a smile of friendship. Somehow, he, like Angel, had to find a way home.

##### End

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: ANGEL and its characters is the property of Joss Whedon (Mutant Enemy), David Greenwalt (LazyDave), Fox, and the WB network. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.


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